In short, in my view, it was a strategic fuck up. It reminded me a little of the Japanese bombing of Darwin and Townsville in WWII – of which the Australian general public was kept largely ignorant. Likewise, the battle of the Kokoda Trail in New Guinea to which my own father had been scheduled to go until a ‘Sliding Doors’ moment happened – but that’s another story. (If we pretended it wasn’t happening – and no-one was panicking about it – wouldn’t that mean that the militarily superior Japanese Imperial Forces would simply go away?) Perhaps those comparisons are not really apt. I’m no military historian. But I could see no value in keeping the public ignorant of our present problem until waves of homicidal zombies were actually on their doorsteps. They were not simply going to give up and go home. They had no home. So, you say, what was the part of the picture that Paul and I had not guessed at? Well, there was, as I’ve said, an area with a radius of about 200km around Melbourne which was completely controlled by the zombies and, so far, they were largely unchallenged. ‘Do the math!’ as they say. That’s over 100,000 square kilometres of existing infestation – with ‘new’ zombies being created all the time to spread the infection even further. But – and this was what I learned from the BBC News – the plague was behaving more like a bushfire than a mere epidemic. Ahead of the infection that physically travelled with the vanguard of the zombies, there were, in effect, ‘spot fires’. Men got bitten but escaped before they showed any symptoms, before they underwent the ‘change’ into zombies. By the time they became infectious – and started biting people – they were often hundreds of kilometres away from the place of infection, having fled in cars, trains, planes and boats. Some fresh outbreaks had been observed as far away as New Zealand and Samoa – and, more worryingly, given the still isolated and rugged topography and rudimentary infrastructure, in Papua New Guinea.
War verr lavarow, moeth o, dhe’m breus vy. An towl ma a’m kovhas nebes a’n tanbellennans nihonek war Dharwyn ha Townsville dres Nessa Bresel an Bys – may feu gwithys diskians an dus Ostralek. Yndella keffrys o Batel Ol Kokoda yn Gyni Nowydh – batel may namna veu danvennys ow thas ow honan – marnas hwarva gweyth ‘Darasow ow Slynkya’. Byttegyns, henn yw hwedhel arall. (Henn yw leverel: mars omwren na vos travyth ow hwarvos – ha ma nag eus skruth yn hy hever – henn a styrsa an Lu Nihonek Emp’rourek, brassa meur y nerth, dhe vos dhe-ves yn sempel, a ny styrsa henna?) Nyns yw gwiw yn ewn, martesen, an kehevelyansow na. Nyns ov mann istorior breselek. Byttegyns, ny yllyn gweles furneth vyth yn gwitha diskians oll an dus a-dro dhe gudynnyow ma erna dheuth tonnow an zombis bys aga forthow. Ny vynnens i hepkorr yn sempel ha dehweles dhe-dre. Nyns esa tre vyth dhedha. Ytho, ty a wovynn: “Py rann an skeusenn na dhismygsa Powl ha my?” Wel, dell leveris, yth esa ranndir kylghyek (po ogas) a wradh a-dro dhe 200km, Melbourne yn y gres, o rewlys yn tien gans an zombis ha, bys ena, nyns ens i chalenjys, dre vras. ‘Gwra an awrgrym!’ dell leverir. Arenebedh ranndir an klevesans ma o moy es 100,000 km pedrek – ha, dres henna, yth esa pup-prys zombis nowydh ow tos rag lesa an klevesans pella hogen. Byttegyns – ha hemm o an dra nowydh a dhyskis dhiworth an nowodhow BBC – yth esa ow fara an pla kepar ha tanses euthyk bras y’n gwylvos. Nyns o epidemyk herwydh usadow. Dres y voward – a lavurya gans an zombis – yth esa, yn effeyth, ‘tanyow-tyller’. Yth esa an dus re via brethys mes dienkys kyns dh’aga diskwedhes sinys an klevesans, kyns dh’aga bos chanjyes yn zombis. Pan dhothyens ha bos klevesus – ha dalleth bratha an dus erell – yth esens menowgh pellder bras alemma, pellder bras dhiworth an le klevesans, fiys esens yn kerri, yn trenow, yn skathow po yn jynnow-ebronn. Y fia gwelys tardhow nowydh yn Mordir Nowydh ha Samoa – ha, meur y breder, yn Papua ha Gyni Nowydh drefenn bos pur dhiberthys y dopografyeth ha drefenn y isframweyth dhe vos eginek.langbot langbot